


From the Wine Dark Sea

by purple_bookcover



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Fairytale prompt, Marihilda Week (Fire Emblem), based off mythology, no beta we die like Glenn, some abuse toward women by husbands/society, this isn't really a fairytale but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22256692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: She arrived from the wine dark sea. From the moment she stepped ashore, Hilda couldn't look away.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89





	From the Wine Dark Sea

**Author's Note:**

> This is for MariHilda Week 2020, day 3 "fairytales." 
> 
> This isn't *really* a fairytale, but oh well. This is VERY loosely based off the story of Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love, beauty and fertility, with Hilda playing the role of her lover, the war god Ares. 
> 
> My reference guide for that story contains exactly four paragraphs and I expanded it to 8,000 words, so as you'll see, I took a huge amount of liberties. If you are here for a play-by-play retelling of the story of Aphrodite and Ares, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Aphrodite and Ares was more of a jumping off point. I pay homage to the original tale in several places, but did not feel bound by it.
> 
> Couple notes:  
> 1\. There is a break in the scene every 1,000-2,000 words, which makes this a lot more manageable to read.  
> 2\. The "abuse" mentioned by the tag is old timey husbands buying wives and things like that.

She arrived via the wine dark sea, her hair the blue of shallow water. The moment she stepped off the ship, she became the most lovely person in the city. Her dress was the white of sea foam, the white of the stones washed onto the shore and climbing the hillside to shape homes and shops and sprawling manses with latices of flowers. Her hair coiled around her in a weave of tight braids. Her eyes scanned the city shyly, her lips parted with wonder. 

“Who is she?” Hilda said. 

Her sparring partner set down his axe. “Some rich man's wife, from what I've heard,” Claude said. 

The army's training grounds were far from the water, atop one of the city's many hills and looking down at the harbor. The blue-haired woman was like a glimmer of lapis among the drab brown of sailors and workmen.

“You'd do well to forget that one,” Claude said. “Apparently it was that blacksmith who bought her, Thales.” 

Hilda drew in a hiss. Thales was the wealthiest man in the city. Every blade and horseshoe and door hinge and nail originated in his forges. 

“What is an old man doing laying down a dowry for a new wife?” Hilda said. She could not keep the sneer from her voice. Her eyes trailed the blue-haired woman's path as serving men greeted her and whisked her away into a carriage that bumped up the stone streets. 

Claude shrugged. “You know how old, rich men are. They get a whim, they indulge it.” Claude shook his head. “Poor woman. She really is beautiful.” 

Hilda traced the carriage as it wound away from the harbor. It would have to go all the way up the hill, she knew, to one of the opulent mansions at the height of the city. The estates peered down at the homes and shops and workers beneath them from behind iron gates--iron gates also made by Thales. 

“Hilda,” Claude said. “You should let this one be. Thales is not a man to trifle with.”

“I'm not planning to trifle with anyone,” Hilda said. “Sounds like far too much effort to be worth the trouble.”

She turned, starting away, but Claude caught her by the arm. 

“Hilda,” he said, “seriously. This is no joke. Thales isn't just some rich guy. He serves on the council and funds half the city's army. It's said he frequently has private audiences with the king. Do not take him lightly.” 

Hilda yanked her arm free. “I'm not taking anything lightly,” she said. “Can't I appreciate beauty from afar?”

“Only from afar, in this case,” Claude said.

Hilda flipped her long pink ponytail over her shoulder. “As though I'd bother trying harder.” But as she recovered her axe and returned to the training grounds, she could not shake the image of that bright fleck of lapis among the stone.

#

The wedding took place on Second Hill.

First Hill would have been too exclusive, allowing few to behold Thales' beautiful new wife. But Third Hill would have been too inclusive, allowing the rabble close. 

Most of the common folk of the city watched from the rooftops anyway, no matter how often Hilda and the rest of the city's guard chased them down. Hilda quickly gave up on yelling at onlookers. Thales had given the soldiers instructions to keep curious eyes at bay, but it was an empty threat. The location was too ostentatious for Thales to pretend at modesty. 

The courtyard he'd chosen was splendid. Flowers coiled up white stone columns, blue and pink blooms either imported or painted. Between the columns, paving stones freckled with flower petals laid out a wide square for public celebrations. Tall iron poles held up basins where incense burned, turning the air itself sweet. A man strummed a lute in one corner; in another, servants bustled out of a building holding platters of cheese and olives and dates. 

Hilda might have loved it, under different circumstances. The bride herself was like a frozen crystal of ocean water. A net of pearls glimmered in her hair. More pearls curled over the ridge of her collar bone, pale as her fair skin. Her dress clung to her torso before flaring out around her hips, scales of shifting color cascading down her body. When she turned to speak to her future husband, the colors shifted like a rainbow rolling atop the waves. 

Her eyes flickered, catching Hilda's across the stone courtyard. Hilda went cold. Those eyes were nothing like what she expected. Pale, brown, almost shadowed; river stones among a vibrant coral reef. 

“Hilda.” Claude's voice was a warning and a plea. 

Hilda shook herself, snatching a glass of wine from a serving woman and downing it in one go. “What?” she said.

Claude raised an eyebrow. She tried to roll her eyes at him, but could not push down the cold spreading through her. _Those eyes._

“Come on,” Claude said. “The ceremony is starting. We're going to stand still and look straight ahead and that's _all_.” 

“Of course, of course,” Hilda said. But as she fell in line, decked out in the official colors of the army and holding a spear, she felt her heart climb up into her throat. 

The music swelled as the bride passed under the archway of spears. Hilda held her breath as the woman passed. Even so, she thought she could smell the salt of the sea. Her wedding dress shifted, like sunlight glinting off water. And for just an instant, those pale river stone eyes slid in Hilda's direction. 

They were warm as rocks sitting in the sun, deep as the darkest ocean trenches and horribly sad. Hilda's breath escaped in a rush. In all the glimmering finery, among all the pearls and scales and jewels, those plain, ordinary eyes swam, rocks beneath the surface, fixing Hilda where she stood.

Just as abruptly, the woman was gone, marching on toward her future husband. Hilda had no choice but to stand still and clutch her spear as the ceremony droned around her. 

After, long after, as guests mingled and torches lit the pavilion and food was set out on steaming platters, Hilda gathered herself enough to try to eat. If a rich man wanted to feed you, you took his damn food. At least that was her philosophy. 

Hilda yelped in surprise when she turned, a meat skewer in each hand, and found the bride herself behind her. 

“E-excuse me, my lady, I was just...” Hilda faltered.

The bride put a hand up to her lips, hiding a delicate laugh. “Please don't mind me,” she said, her voice soft as silk. “You worked all day. Please, do eat.” 

“I, well, it's mostly just standing around,” Hilda said. “Not that it wasn't splendid. Gorgeous. A lovely wedding, my lady.”

“Please, you can call me Marianne,” the woman said. 

“Marianne,” Hilda said, testing the feel of the name on her tongue. It filled her belly in a way the food never would. “Your wedding was beautiful. You looked...” Hilda stopped herself, swallowing around the lump that had clogged up her throat.

Marianne tilted her head to the side, waiting. “I looked what?” 

The question sounded sincere, but Hilda dared not answer. Surely, this Marianne understood how beautiful she was, understood that she looked like sunlight dancing atop the water, like flowers blooming in spring, like a goddess arrived from the sea and resplendent in a rainbow of shimmering scales. 

Marianne stepped closer, and it was all Hilda could do not to drop the skewers. “What is your name?” Marianne said.

“Hilda.”

Marianne smiled, but from this close Hilda could see the falseness of it, the way it cracked and bent under the weight of whatever Marianne truly felt. “That's a very nice name.”

“It's OK,” Hilda said. 

“You work for my husband?”

Hilda struggled not to sneer at the word “husband.” “Technically, no,” she said. “But he funds much of the city's army.” 

“I see,” Marianne said.

If she'd been about to say more, Hilda never found out. Claude suddenly had Hilda by the arm and was tugging her away even as he bowed to Marianne, doling out apologies. 

“What were you doing?” he hissed as he dragged her along. 

But Hilda hardly heard his questions and warnings, suffused in the scent of sea water, blinded by light glinting off a rainbow of scales.

#

Market Day clogged the streets of the city. Fisher folk, artisans, butchers, crafts persons and merchants set out their stalls, narrowing the stone alleyways that wound up from the harbor like the arteries of a heart. Each beat of the waves against the shoreline pushed more people toward the center.

In the wake of the wedding, more jewelry and sweets than usual found their ways to the stalls, most poor mimics of the actual jewels and sweets at the ceremony. The “pearls” were suspiciously brown, the sweets rather significantly more plain than the honeyed cakes and sugared breads. 

Hilda didn't care about any of that, though. She forced her way to the stall she always searched for on market days, the stall staffed by a little old man whose wrinkled face broke into a wide grin when he spotted her pushing through the crowd.

He rose to greet her. She clasped his gnarled hand in hers, squeezing gently. 

“Hilda, my dear,” he said, “how good that you've come despite the treasures these others have to offer.”

“I suspect more than a few of their customers will find their 'pearls' are painted rocks,” Hilda said. 

He gave her a knowing smile. “At least you still have some taste. What might I offer today? My boy was down by the shore and found some of the most magnificent stones. Brightest lapis you've ever seen.” 

“As though I'd believe you had actual lapis,” Hilda said. 

Still, when he brought up a box from under the table and opened it, her eyes went wide. Chips and chunks of blue, shards of green, even a sliver of ruby. The stones within were indeed stunning. If Hilda didn't know better, she might have suspected the old swindler had actual lapis among his collection. 

“Your boy found these, eh?” Hilda said. She reached for the stones but he snapped the lid shut.

“Of course.” 

“Mhm,” Hilda said. “You ought not lie to the city's protectors.” 

“I've never in my life lied to you,” the old man said.

Hilda rolled her eyes. “Open the case, old man, if you want my coin.”

He reopened the lid and this time let Hilda run her fingers through the assortment of stones and jewels and trinkets he had on display. Some were obvious fakes, like the “pearl” nearly cracked in half or the ruby that left red dust on her fingers. But others were of surprisingly high quality. Hilda started to create a little pile on the table. She found herself collecting mostly blue stones and trying not to think too hard about how lovely they'd look draped around a certain delicate throat beneath river rock eyes. 

“Oh my.” It was a soft breath. Even so, Hilda startled, looking up only to find the very woman she'd been daydreaming about standing right beside her.

Marianne was dressed more plainly this day in a simple cream dress and sandals, like most of the city. Even so, she was radiant, her hair still coiled tightly around her head, stray strands brushing her face like threads of silk. She stood close, so close Hilda could see the pearl earrings she wore, her single adornment. 

It didn't matter. Jewels or not, gown or shift, Marianne was a precious gem among ordinary granite. 

“These are lovely,” Marianne said, holding up a couple of the blue stones. 

“Yes, my lady,” the old man said. “My boy found them just down at the shore.”

“Oh, how lucky,” Marianne said without a trace of skepticism. 

“Not as lovely as you, my lady,” the old man said. 

“If you're planning to swindle her, I'll use my authority to haul you off by the ear, old man,” Hilda said.

“Swindle me?” Marianne cocked her head to the side, utterly unsuspecting. 

“I would never, my lady,” the old man said.

“You would,” Hilda said, “and you have. We'll take these.” She indicated her pile. 

“Three silvers,” he said.

“Two,” Hilda said. “Bronze.”

“I can't accept bronze, Hilda, and you well know it.”

“One silver.”

“Two.”

“One.” Hilda leaned heavily on the table. The old man shook his head, muttering, but finally held out a hand. Hilda dropped a single coin into it, collected up her stones and took Marianne by the wrist, leading her away. 

It wasn't until she'd gotten them both through the crowd and into a breath of empty space on a side street that Hilda released her. She cleared her throat, digging through the bag of stones rather than looking at Marianne. 

“Here,” Hilda said. “These are yours.”

“Mine?” Marianne said, but she held out her hands.

Hilda dropped several blue stones into her palms. “I, uh...” Hilda started, “I'm sorry for grabbing you like that. He and I have a bit of an arrangement, but outsiders tend to end up with painted rocks they've overpaid for. Those aren't too terrible, though, considering the price.” 

“Outsiders.” Marianne was studying the rocks in her hands. 

“Uh, sorry,” Hilda said. “I didn't mean... It's just that you only recently arrived here and... I'm sure you'll settle in soon.”

“Hm,” Marianne said. She was still looking down, those river rock eyes so dull and gray that Hilda couldn't help reaching out for them. Her finger grazed Marianne's chin, tilting her head up.

Any words Hilda might have been preparing to say fled from her mouth when Marianne looked up at her. Hilda stood gaping, her lips hanging open. It was like sticking her head under water, seeing those eyes up close, unfiltered, unmasked. They were the brown of freshly tilled earth and exhaled all their warmth at Hilda as she drew near.

“I...” Marianne said.

Hilda withdrew her hand with a jerk. 

“Hilda.”

“What?” Hilda said.

“That was your name, wasn't it?” 

“Oh, yeah, of course.” 

Marianne held out a hand. It pressed space between them, creating a barrier built of propriety. “It's been nice to meet you, Hilda.”

Hilda accepted the hand, letting her fingers glide along Marianne's soft skin. It was smooth as warm milk. When Hilda squeezed to shake her hand, Marianne applied a breath of pressure, her fingers almost limp in Hilda's hold. 

Yet somehow Hilda had no fear of breaking this woman. Those river rock eyes offered a glimpse past the fluttering exterior, a glimpse of something as hard and unyielding as the bedrock of an ocean. 

Marianne slipped her fingers free, water between stones, and clasped her hands at her breast. “Thank you for helping me in the market.” 

“I... like helping,” Hilda said. She shook herself, but the memory of Marianne's hand lingered on her skin. “I like helping you. I mean, until you're settled in. The city can be overwhelming, I'm sure.”

“A bit,” Marianne said. “Perhaps...”

Hilda hung in the pause after that single word, that unspoken promise. 

But before Marianne could finish it, two men swept in, breathless and wide eyed. They looked between Hilda and Marianne. 

“My lady,” one said, “you vanished from the market.”

“I am well,” Marianne said. “This woman is a member of the city's guard. She was just helping me.”

“Even so, my lady,” the man said, casting a wary eye at Hilda, “you ought not wander off.”

“I apologize,” Marianne said.

“Please, my lady. We should go.”

Marianne nodded. Her head hung, but she snuck a brief glimpse at Hilda before the men whisked her away. Hilda watched her go until her tightly coiled blue hair disappeared around a corner.

#

“How can you just lounge in there so long?” Claude said.

His voice echoed in the changing room, squeezing past the stone divider. 

“We trained hard today,” Hilda called back. “I deserve a break.”

“You always seem to deserve a break.”

“Well, maybe if you worked harder you'd deserve one too,” she said.

His laugh was a short crack. “Right, like you and your 'twisted ankle.' Or was it a 'sore bicep' today? Amazing how someone who spends so much time resting always seems in need of more recovery time.”

“The burden of being strong,” Hilda said. “Anyway, I don't need to listen to this abuse. I'm taking my bath. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don't get yourself in trouble,” Claude called back. Hilda wanted to retort, but already his voice was growing faint as he left his side of the divider.

Hilda's feet kissed the stone as she exited the changing room and stepped into the women's half of the public bathhouse. Steam filled the room, curling off the water filling the large stone tub. A few benches jutted from the wall. Hilda set her towel on one before stepping down the stairs into the pool. 

The heat was nearly too much. Hilda paused to let her feet adjust, then stepped deeper, until she waded up to her waist in the water. Hilda found one of the benches set within the bathing pool and sank down to her neck, reclining her head against the stone lip. 

Hilda sighed as her body adjusted to the water, closing her eyes. She let her mind wander until it settled on milky skin, blue hair, eyes as sturdy as plain river rocks. Hilda allowed herself to remember the day Marianne had arrived. That simple white dress. What would it look like with the wind pushing it tight over Marianne's lean body? What would it look like if Marianne walked right out of the sea, the white fabric clinging to her skin, her blue hair loose and lank and wild like seaweed, a goddess emerging from between the waves?

She opened her eyes with a gasp when she heard someone in the changing room. 

“Claude, you're not supposed to be on this side,” she called. “I've told you a thousand times.” 

But it was not Claude who stepped from the changing room with a towel wrapped around their body. 

“Marianne,” Hilda breathed.

“I'm sorry,” Marianne said. “Am I disturbing you? I was told this was the best time to use the baths.”

“It's...” Hilda tried to sink lower in the water. “There's usually more people here.”

“Yes,” Marianne said. “I was hoping to meet them.”

“Why?” Hilda put her hands over her mouth as though trying to catch the word after it had already escaped. “I'm sorry. That sounded awful. I meant...” 

Marianne padded toward the stone benches, setting her towel aside. Hilda carefully looked away, keeping her eyes anywhere else as she heard Marianne step into the water. Only when the other woman was fully submerged did Hilda look for her.

The water obscured little. Hilda could see Marianne's slim body beneath the surface, her skin like the white stone that had built the city, but softer, so much softer, like a bolt of satin swirling beneath the water. 

“You wonder why I'd bother coming here,” Marianne said. She settled beside Hilda on the bench, which, mercifully, made it more difficult for Hilda to appraise her body. 

“I wonder...” Hilda was having a tough time remembering where this thread had started. “Right. The baths. I mean... Yes, I was wondering. You're, well, I have to imagine your husband has his own baths. You could bathe in private whenever you like. Why come down here?”

Marianne was studying the wavering illusion of her hands beneath the water. 

“You are a soldier,” Marianne said.

Hilda blinked, taken aback by the response. “Well, yeah.”

“It seems nice.”

“It's OK,” Hilda said. “A lot of hard work. So much training. And Claude is always on me about how I'm not working hard enough, even though I beat him every time we spar. It's so tedious. Some days I wish I could just kick back and not worry about it anymore.”

Marianne laughed softly. “You must be very strong.” She finally looked up from her hands to regard Hilda, who had to swallow, her throat suddenly terribly dry.

“I guess,” Hilda said. 

“I can sometimes see you training,” Marianne said, “from the... from my husband's house. You all look so strong and … and free.”

“Oh.” The word fell between them, a stone plunking into the water and leaving a ripple of silence in its wake. “I'm sorry,” Hilda said. 

Marianne did not respond, but her lips stretched as though searching for a smile. They did not succeed. 

“Why did you come here?” Hilda said. “Where are you from? Who are you?”

“I came because I had to,” Marianne said. 

“What...”

But before Hilda could finish, Marianne turned her whole body in the water, facing Hilda. The water wavered away from her, flecked with the reflection of her blue hair. The steam curling off the surface smelled stronger now, bold with the salt of the sea itself. And those river rock eyes released the heat they'd been holding in so long, the heat they'd collected by baking out in the sun, burning as they lay exposed on the sand. 

Hilda felt scorched, yet leaned closer, basking in the heat that seared her skin. The water murmured as Hilda shuffled closer, her knees bumping Marianne's. Hilda fumbled for her through the illusions of the shifting water, finally finding that skin like a quivering dollop of cream. Marianne let Hilda pull her closer through the water, drifting into Hilda's lap, settling on her bare thighs. Even with the distortion of the water, Hilda shivered from the smooth glide of Marianne's legs against hers. 

Marianne was taller than her, enough taller that when Hilda pulled her close her breasts were exposed, dripping as they emerged from the water. Marianne had her hands on Hilda's shoulders, steadying herself, gaping down, her face rosy from steam and more. 

Hilda could not say what tide had washed this woman to this rocky shore. But just then, she longed to be the anchor that kept her here. 

Gentle pressure brought Marianne's face tilting down to Hilda's. Marianne's lips met hers softly, tentatively, tip toeing to the threshold they now crossed together. Her mouth was as soft as a tide lapping against Hilda's lips, sweet and salty all at once. 

Hilda was warm in ways the steam could never reach. She pressed into the feel of Marianne's mouth, pushing past the cautious brush of lips to force their mouths together. Marianne gasped. Hilda surged against that soft breath, collecting it in her chest as she kissed harder, seeking, reaching. 

Marianne jerked away. Hilda was suddenly bereft, empty as Marianne pulled out of her arms. The water sloshed in an angry slap against the sides of the stone pool as Marianne stood, hurrying up the steps and rushing for her towel.

“Wait,” Hilda called. Her voice echoed above the splash of the disturbed water.

Marianne turned, her towel concealing her dripping body. 

But Hilda didn't know what to say. The kiss lingered on her lips. Her heart clogged her throat, squeezing the air out of her chest. 

Marianne turned away, leaving like a wave dragged back out to sea.

#

The strike rang through her weapon and into her hands. Hilda's axe flew out of her grip, spinning across the grassy practice area.

Claude lowered his own axe with a sigh, already shaking his head.

“Don't even say it,” Hilda said.

“This is the third time I've gotten you today,” Claude said. “You really expect me to say nothing?” 

“I'm fine,” Hilda said.

Claude glanced around, but the other soldiers in the training yard seemed to be paying the pair little heed. Still, he stepped close to Hilda, lowering his voice. “You're distracted and we both know why.”

“I'm fine,” Hilda said between her teeth. Merciful goddess, she knew it had been a mistake to tell Claude what had happened in the public baths several days ago. He'd been on her about it ever since. 

“Hilda, this is beyond dangerous, beyond stupid. You know what Thales could do to you for...” He lowered his voice even further. “For fucking his wife.”

“We didn't--” 

“He's not going to care how far it did or didn't go,” Claude said. “This needs to stop. You know that, right?” 

But Hilda was already tuning out his lecturing. A carriage flanked by riders wound up the dirt road to the training area. It wasn't hard to spot them. The army barracks and training grounds sat apart from the main bulk of the city, on a hilltop overlooking city and sea both.

“Hilda,” Claude snapped.

She turned to him, a desperate idea lighting her eyes. “Help me,” she said.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“You want this to end, right? Help me end it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What are you thinking? You better not ask me to kill him.”

“Of course not!” Hilda said. “Don't be crazy. I just want you to distract him long enough that I can be alone with Marianne.”

“Asking me to help you commit suicide isn't any better.” 

“It won't be suicide,” she said. “Not if you do it right.” 

He looked reluctant, but she was already pulling away from him, moving to intercept the carriage.

“Hilda,” he said, “I really don't think--”

“I'm going,” she said. “You can help or you can watch.”

“That's not fair,” he called, but already she was jogging away, moving as swiftly as she dared toward the carriage stopping outside the training grounds. Thales emerged first, using his cane to help him reach the ground. Marianne followed, a seaweed green gown tangling about her ankles when she searched for the ground with her foot. 

When she looked up, her eyes struck Hilda's like a javelin thrown across the training yard. Marianne turned her head immediately, but even from several paces away Hilda could see the pink that lit her cheeks, making her look like a flower blooming in the sunlight. 

Hilda's feet moved of their own accord, dragging her nearer to Marianne. She didn't know where Claude was; she didn't care. Maybe he'd help her. Maybe she'd dive alone into the pull of Marianne's current and let it sweep her off the cliffside. 

“My lord,” she heard. 

She was jolted from her stupor for long enough to see Claude jogging up to Thales. 

“How good to see you,” Claude said. “It's been too long, my lord.”

“Yes, well,” Thales said, sneering as he took in the facility. 

“What brings you here today?” Claude said.

“I thought I might see if my money is going to any good use,” Thales said.

“Of course,” Claude said. “Would you allow me to show you around?”

“I know my way around,” Thales snapped.

“Yes, but there have been some changes since your last visit, if I recall, my lord. Please, allow me to escort you.”

“Ridiculous,” Thales said, but when Claude started moving, he followed.

Hilda leapt at her opportunity. She strode up to Marianne, past the guards who gave her curious glares. 

“My lady,” Hilda said. “A dirty training yard is no fit place for you. Please, allow me to show you to the office and prepare tea for you.” 

The guards flinched, angling toward Hilda. For a moment, Hilda feared Marianne would let them pounce, but then she held up a hand and a smile softened her face. 

“That sounds nice,” she said. 

“My lady,” Hilda said. She held out her arm and Marianne took it. As they walked away, Hilda felt the gentle pressure of Marianne's fingers on her arm, felt the brush of her dress against Hilda's dirty training clothing. She struggled to keep moving steadily forward, but the scent of sea salt threatened to push her off balance. 

Finally, she reached the office. With any luck at all, it would be empty at this time of day, with the officers who might use it taking their meals or training with the soldiers. 

Hilda nudged the door open and found the office deserted. She exhaled, even as Marianne slipped out of her hold. Marianne sat on a chair before a desk in the plain, utilitarian room. Hilda moved to the cold stove in the corner. 

“It could take some time to build the fire,” Hilda said. 

“I know,” Marianne said. 

“The tea,” Hilda said.

“I know.” 

Marianne sat, hands in her lap, eyes following Hilda like birds searching for a branch to land on. 

Hilda left the cold stove. She knelt before the chair where Marianne sat, setting her hands on the sides, not daring to touch Marianne. Not yet. Not until she was sure. 

“I needed to see you again,” Hilda said. “When I spotted you coming up that hill...” 

“I...” Marianne's cheeks were rosy. “I... wanted to see you, too.” 

That was all Hilda needed. She surged forward, standing and leaning over so she could kiss Marianne back against the chair. Marianne murmured against her mouth, her lips tight and pressed together. She sighed, mouth softening, and Hilda drank in the shift, the melting of those fluttering lips that parted for her as Hilda prodded with her tongue. She wanted to scrape out any trace of anyone else who might have touched that mouth, wanted to ensure that nothing but the taste of the sea remained. 

Hilda had her hands on the arms of the chair, propping herself up. Marianne reached up, her fingers gently pushing into the pink strands of Hilda's hair, trailing up until they found Hilda's head. Marianne pulled down, just slightly, pressing Hilda more tightly against her. Encouraged, Hilda moved a hand from the chair to Marianne's face, stroking her cheek, drawing her yet closer as Hilda licked inside her mouth. 

They broke apart gasping and flushed. Hilda got back down on her knees, but it was not to retreat. Rather, she slipped her hands under the hem of Marianne's dress, reaching until she felt skin. Her fingers trailed up Marianne's legs, slow, cautious. Hilda watched Marianne the entire time, studying those river rock eyes for any sign of hesitation or reluctance. Marianne met her gaze, her lips blushing bright and parted for her panting breaths. 

“Hilda,” she breathed.

Hilda froze, her hands at Marianne's knees, the dress hiked up but revealing nothing but Marianne's shins. 

“Marianne,” she said, the name sweet as honey on her tongue. “I want...” 

Marianne reached out, stroking Hilda's hair. “I want it, too,” she said. 

For a moment, Hilda lingered, letting that soft hand run over her hair, her cheek, her chin. Then she turned her face, kissing Marianne's fingers, and slid her hands higher, shuffling the dress up Marianne's thighs. 

Hilda felt the heat between Marianne's thighs before she even reached her hips. Her undergarments were thin cotton. Marianne rose up a little to let Hilda pull them away and toss them across the floor. Hilda nudged at Marianne's knees, encouraging them to part, pulling her toward the edge of the chair. She followed the trail that opened before her, kissing up the inside of Marianne's smooth thighs, feeling the flutter of tremulous skin beneath her lips. It was like swimming closer and closer to a hot spring, searching for the source of that sweet warmth that steamed in the air. 

Marianne gasped when Hilda found it, flicking her tongue at Marianne's pussy. Hilda used a finger to stroke at a tuft of blue hair and create a path for her tongue to skim. Hilda licked and tasted the salt of the sea, the sweet tang of warm, shallow water. 

Marianne whined, grabbing at Hilda's hair and arching against the chair. Hilda dove in deeper, her tongue probing. It was like breathing under water, taking in the beauty of a coral reef even as she felt the suffocating pressure of the ocean weighing down on her. 

Her fingers slipped lower than her tongue, finding the source of the wetness washing over her. Her finger swirled, pushing and prodding, exploring, seeking, but patient all the same, waiting. 

“Ah,” Marianne sighed. 

Hilda pushed a finger inside Marianne, just a single digit, and Marianne gasped and pulled tight on Hilda's hair. When Hilda slid the finger in and out, Marianne whimpered, her thigh shuddering against Hilda's cheek. Hilda kept working her tongue, even as her finger got slicker inside Marianne. 

“Hilda,” Marianne breathed. 

It was the summon of a goddess. Hilda looked up, even as she kept licking at Marianne's clit, to see river rock eyes boring down at her, cracked and fragile. 

Hilda removed her finger and Marianne momentarily looked pained, until Hilda put a new finger in her own mouth, then brought both down to Marianne's entrance. Marianne gave a slight nod, her eyebrows curling, her breaths short rasps. Hilda pushed inside her, aided by Marianne's own slickness.

“Goddess,” Marianne sighed, her eyes squeezing shut as she leaned her head back. 

She started to move her hips in time with Hilda's hand, rolling in a slow wave. Hilda increased her pace, testing and teasing, drawing out sweet whines of pleasure as she worked. Together, they built a swell, gathering up a tidal wave that trembled over them. Hilda's free hand gripped Marianne's thigh; her tongue pressed harder against her clit, tasting each lilting cry. 

Marianne's breaths took on a desperate whine, a high whimper. Hilda's name tumbled somewhere within the rasps, a leaf caught in a windstorm. The tidal wave built, the drops that precipitated the crash beginning to patter down. Marianne yanked on Hilda's hair, bucking so hard her ass and hips rose up off the chair. Her cry crashed toward the ceiling as her body tensed to breaking, releasing with a shudder. 

Hilda felt warmth and wetness flood her fingers. She stilled her tongue and fingers as Marianne's body withered back down into the chair like a wilting flower. 

Hilda eased her fingers out of Marianne while the other woman gasped and breathed. Before Hilda could do anything else, Marianne grabbed her by the sides of her head and pulled her up to her mouth, kissing her with the last desperate dregs of energy remaining in her quivering body. 

The door slammed open. 

They broke apart, the kiss snapping in their mouths like a broken branch. Marianne shoved at her dress, trying to force it down over her thighs. Hilda was still kneeling on the floor, her hands on Marianne's thighs, her fingers slick with her release. 

Thales stood in the doorway. 

He did not speak. For a moment, he did not even look angry. Then the wrinkles of his face bunched like storm clouds. 

“Whore,” he spat.

He said nothing further, merely pointed, and his personal guards swept into the room. They threw something at Hilda and Marianne. Hilda didn't realize what it was until the heavy golden net fell over her, dragging her to the ground. The guards rushed in and Hilda and Marianne found themselves separated, shackled and dragged off in different directions.

The last thing Hilda saw before they shoved a bag over her head was Claude arguing with Thales to no avail.

#

The burlap dress scratched at Hilda's skin. She sat with her back against a damp stone wall in a dank basement. Thales' basement.

Beneath his home, the prolific smith had built his own jail cells. There were only three, but Hilda and Marianne now occupied two of them, dressed in nothing but burlap, miserable in the constant damp and darkness. 

Hilda pressed against the corner of her cell. Often during the interminable time since their capture, she'd heard the other woman crying in the dark, muttering prayers between sobs. Hilda didn't try to comfort her, didn't dare to speak. How could she when ultimately this was her fault? 

Instead, she sat in the oppressive gloom and let her own tears streak silently down her cheeks. 

Thus, it was a surprise when she heard Marianne whisper her name. 

“Hilda,” she said again. “Hilda, are you there?”

Hilda swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Yeah, I'm here.”

There was a beat of silence, then a soft, “I'm sorry.” 

“You... What?” Hilda said. 

“It's my fault this all happened,” Marianne said.

Hilda turned to face the wall, pressing her hand to the stone between herself and Marianne. “This isn't your fault. Please, please don't think that. I knew it was risky. Claude told me to stay away. But I ... I couldn't.” 

Hilda heard a sob. “I never should have come here,” Marianne said. “It's caused nothing but pain.”

“That's not true,” Hilda said. “You coming here is the best thing that ever happened to me. The moment you stepped off that ship I couldn't look away.” 

She pressed against the stone, holding her breath, waiting for a response. Somehow, the silence was the most frightening part of the entire ordeal. 

Finally, she heard a soft, “Hilda.” 

But just then the door to the basement clanged open. Heavy footsteps thudded toward them. Before Hilda could figure out what was going on, the door to her cell was opening and rough hands were dragging her to her feet. She caught a glimpse of Marianne being yanked up as well, but it was only a glimpse. Next she knew, Hilda was marching up the stairs and out into sunlight that made her eyes water. She threw up her hands, but tears streaked down her face as she tried to adjust to light after so many days of darkness. 

She felt the smooth stone under her feet change to dirt. They seemed to walk a long, long way from Thales' mansion, heading uphill. All the while, Hilda's eyes kept watering. She blinked, stumbling in her blindness, groping at the hands clutching her. The world tilted and spun and suddenly she found herself on the ground.

Finally, she could wipe the water from her eyes. She blinked, shaking her head to clear it. Before her vision returned, she heard the sea, smelled the salt on the air, felt the cold breeze whipping up off the water. 

Hilda found herself on a cliff at the edge of the city with Marianne beside her. At her back, the cliff dropped off steeply, the sea slamming against the jagged stone. 

“On your feet,” a cold voice said. 

Hilda turned and saw Thales pacing toward them. A crowd clustered behind him; it looked like the whole city crowded the cliffside to gape at Hilda and Marianne. 

“Wretched whores,” Thales said. 

Then he waved a hand and his guards dragged Hilda and Marianne to the cliff's edge. Hilda had only a moment to scrabble at the ground before her feet met open air and she was falling away into the horrible emptiness, reaching back up for the cliff as it pulled farther and father away. She felt weightless for an instant, then Marianne clutched her hand and they plummeted toward the sea together.

#

Claude reached the cliff in time to see Hilda disappear over it.

“No,” he gasped.

He shoved through the crowd, shouldering his way past murmuring onlookers, stumbling when he finally burst free. Thales' guards gave him dour looks, but didn't hinder him as he rushed to the edge of the cliff, falling to his hands and knees. He forced several deep breaths before daring to look over the side. 

“They met their due fate,” Thales said behind him. “They were whores and liars.” 

Claude didn't listen. He crept forward, forcing his eyes open. 

The cliff fell away, a tumble of jagged, exposed rock battered by waves. Rocks pierced the water like spikes in a pit. But when Claude finally searched, he saw no bodies skewered upon those sawing teeth, no bodies floating limp in the water or disappearing beneath the waves, no bodies anywhere at all. 

He felt a surge of relief. Maybe they'd hit deeper water and somehow survived. But as the tide pulled away to gather and crash, he saw how slim that hope really was. The water was shallow for a good way. There was no chance they hadn't hit the rocks. 

Claude huddled on the cliff edge, no longer bothering to look at the water. His chest ached. Perhaps he should have tried harder to stop Hilda, but it was never possible to stop her when she set her mind on something. 

When he stood at last, the crowd had long since dispersed. No one accosted Thales, then or in the weeks to come. Marianne had been his wife, purchased via dowry and recognized under all the laws of the city. And Thales had caught her blatant infidelity. It was his right to punish her. 

Hardly anyone spoke of the dead women after that. When Claude returned to the normal rhythms of everyday life, it was almost as though Hilda had never existed. Not in the training yard. Not in the market. Not anywhere in the damned city. It made going about his training a dull, gray business, as dull and gray as the skies of late, which had been hanging over the city like the curtains of a funeral shroud. 

Claude set his axe on the ground, watching the clouds curl and bunch overhead like an angry hand knotting into a fist. 

Someone slapped his shoulder. “Hey, best get inside. Storm's on the way.” 

“A storm?” he said. That wasn't right. It wasn't the season for storms, not storms like this, storms that made the sky purple and black like a bruise, storms that whipped up the sea and sent it shrieking against the cliffsides. 

Claude ignored the soldier encouraging him to take shelter. Instead, he ran from the training area, ran through the city, ran for the shore itself, even as the rain began, pelting down in heavy, hard drops that struck like stones, smacking the streets and homes and piers. By the time Claude reached the shore, he could hardly see, the rain a sheet of gray. He put up his arms, pushing against the water slanting sideways as though thrown at the city by the sea itself. Waves washed out the docks and sent the ships anchored there crashing against each other. Splinters of wood were tossed ashore as pier and ship alike shattered. 

Claude stood alone as the storm rolled over the city. Everyone else had taken shelter, but he watched, letting the wind batter him, letting the water grab at his ankles as the sea flooded in. 

They streaked past, intertwined, gusts of wind curled around each other like glimmering fish flashing past. Blue and pink, howling as they burst into the city. 

Claude spun, watching them go, watching them lead the storm like generals at the head of an army. 

In their wake, the air was still. 

Claude gaped. He stood in a pocket, a small piece of stillness among the torrent. It was like he was watching the storm from behind a window. Waves crashed over him but slid harmlessly away, leaving him dry. Broken boards soared through the air but never touched him, striking some invisible, protective barrier of air inside which Claude stood. 

From this odd pocket, Claude watched the city drown, streams of water gushing through the streets, sweeping away home and citizen alike. Thales' mansion was one of the first to fall, the walls crushed under fists of water, the gardens smothered, the gates twisted and mangled. Wind and water bent the carefully wrought iron like it was seaweed. 

And then the storm passed. The water receded. The clouds unclasped their knotted hands.

When the sun broke through, it was almost startlingly bright. It revealed a city damp and crouching, but far from ruin. Indeed, the destruction Claude had assumed he'd seen was mostly contained to Thales' mansion and a few other of the most opulent homes high up the hills. Even the piers were mostly intact, though Claude saw one ship that would probably never sail again, a ship bearing the heraldry of Thales' smithies. 

Hilda and Marianne walked down the beach toward Claude, hand in hand. Their hair streamed behind them like pink and blue coral. Their clothing was soft wisps, curls of cloud. 

Marianne covered her mouth with a hand when the pair neared. “Oh my, I'm so sorry. That must have been frightening.” 

“You're alive,” Claude said.

Hilda laughed. “Duh, silly. You think I'm gonna let them kill us that easily?”

“How?” Claude said.

Hilda looked over at Marianne, her smirk widening. Marianne's cheeks tinged pink, a mirror to Hilda's hair. “My father wasn't pleased with my treatment here,” Marianne said. 

Claude had no idea what she meant, but the pair was already leaving, passing him and heading back to the sea. “Wait,” he said. 

They paused, regarding him over their shoulders. 

“Where are you going?” he said. 

“Home,” Hilda said. She smiled at him. “Thanks for being a good friend, Claude. Maybe I'll see you again some time.” 

“Maybe,” he said, his voice weak. 

Hilda waved and the pair set off again, walking toward the water. It lapped at their ankles, then sloshed up their legs. Their clothing floated on the surface as it reached their hips. Then they disappeared entirely under the water, a ripple marking the place where they'd submerged. Claude watched as the pink of the sunset melted into the blue of the water, filling the horizon, stretching across sea and sky at once, linked eternally.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it through all 8,000 words, like, honestly, bravo. This story was supposed to be a quick, easy thing because I don't have as much time as I'd like for MariHilda week. And somehow it became... this. Thank you for bearing with me. 
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


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